


sweeter than honey

by lovelyskies



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson, 楽しいムーミン一家 | Moomin (Anime 1990)
Genre: I made this with no one in mind but me, M/M, One Shot, this is totally self indulgent, uhhhh there's smut in the end, you know me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24042148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyskies/pseuds/lovelyskies
Summary: Snufkin crawls inside his tent to search for his sack of tea leaves. Half his body remains basked in the sun. His ears perk up when he hears the distinct steps of Moomin approach, a ripple of awareness sending goosebumps down his spine. Moomin’s gaze moves from the tent to the small rump sticking out from it.“A wonderful way to wake up, indeed,” Moomin chuckles, taking a step back to let Snufkin emerge from the tent.“Moomintroll, you tease.” Snufkin is dressed in white and blue, with his dark ginger hair curling over the white-collar. His small bushy tail wags underneath his dress, making the metal buttons rattle slightly. He opens his arms then, as wide as they can go. Moomin takes his shoulders, fitting him against himself with delicate care. A curious hand lowers down the crook of his back, to meet that eager tail of his. “I would appreciate the smallest delicacy of manners,” Snufkin taunts as he gets on the tips of his toes, to meet Moomin’s lips.
Relationships: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 67





	sweeter than honey

**Author's Note:**

> edit 5/21 - removed jealous moomin content. another note, snufkin and his new friend are just that, good friends! I apologize if I insinuated anything more.

The Moomins are open-minded people, but that isn’t to say they have strong opinions about how people should live. They value freedom, living amongst Mother Nature herself, but they also value having a roof over one’s head when storm showers threaten. They had expected their youngest, Moomintroll, to have cleared land for his own home, have his own garden beds to grow flowers, to start his own family to grow old with. Yet, his childhood room still remains occupied at the _ripe_ age of twenty-four. 

And today comes yet _another_ spring morning, the first of which. Moomintroll now admires a good stay-in, letting Snufkin set up his tent in his own time. Gone are the days of waiting on the bridge, hoping that every blurred figure over the horizon was his friend returning home after a long winter apart. 

“Yes, but a young man must be _steered_ into productivity!” Moominpapa attempts to push his way past his wife to climb the stairs, but her hold is stronger than titanium. It is now well past noon, _noon!_ And their son is _still_ sleeping in from his hibernation. 

“He is his own man,” Mamma corrects, “we can’t force him to do anything he doesn’t wish to.” She hands him the broom in her hands, to give him something constructive to do. “That _includes_ moving out.” 

Pappa’s chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “Fine.” He grabs the broom from her hands. “I’m not _forcing_ him to do anything. It’s merely a matter of persuasion.” 

“Right dear, if that’s what you’d like to call it.”

Interrupting them is a hugely ill-mannered yawn coming from the top of the staircase. They peer up to find Moomintroll scratching his thick fur coat, small fragments of white fur floating in the air. “G’morning,” he mumbles as he comes down the stairs. The rickety steps groan with each step as Moomintroll had grown larger than even his father over the years, in height _and_ width. 

“Good morning son! Another marvelous hibernation is in the books, yes?” Pappa pats his back in what he hoped to be an encouraging motion.

Moomin mumbles a curt reply, continuing his journey to the kitchen. 

Pappa stumbles ahead, attempting to keep up with him. As Moomin ventures to the cabinetry, he looms against the doorframe. “I have something I wanted to speak to you about! It’s quite exciting, nothing to fear!” he says, as though to reassure _himself_. 

“Oh?” Moomin says, pulling out a box of biscuits from the top shelf. It wasn’t that long ago that he needed a step stool to reach the highest shelf, now he needn’t to get on his tip-toes. “I was hoping to go see Snufkin.” They had waved momentarily from Moomin’s window seal. To which Snufkin whistled _Coming down?_ And Moomin replied with his own whistle, _Of course!_ Snufkin left him to get ready, as he made a campfire for his kettle. 

“Speaking of, this involves the lad!”

Moomin sets the box down on the counter and turns, giving his father a wary gaze. “What’s all this about?” 

“As I said, nothing to lose your tail over,” Pappa chuckles nervously, looking for his better half in the living room. She appears by his side and takes over. 

“We just want you both to be happy. But we also want you to grow independent.” She grabs the hem of her apron, nervously playing with the worn fabric in her paws. “You’re not our little Moomintroll anymore and we think it would be in your best interest-” 

“You’re kicking me out, is it?” He stomps his foot and crosses his arms across his chest. 

“Anything but!” Pappa corrects. “We’d love nothing more than to keep you here, but, well, it’s also what we’re afraid of.” 

“Afraid?” Moomin huffs, finding this whole story unlikely. 

“We don’t want you missing out on life, dear,” Mamma says. “We all must have our own adventures. Snufkin knows that, yes?” 

_Snufkin._ Of course, they would compare him to his own companion. If only _Snufkin_ was their son, then they wouldn’t be having this conversation. “I know when I’m not wanted,” he grunts, taking the box and storming out.

“Now, son-” Pappa tries, but Mamma places a hand on his shoulder.

“Let him come around in his own time,” she says with a smile. “We did that with his relationship with Snufkin, hm?” 

“I don’t know if I can’t handle something like that again,” he sighs with a shake of the head. 

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Snufkin crawls inside his tent to search for his sack of tea leaves. Half his body remains basked in the sun. His ears perk up when he hears the distinct steps of Moomin approach, a ripple of awareness sending goosebumps down his spine. Moomin’s gaze moves from the tent to the small rump sticking out from it. 

“A wonderful way to wake up, indeed,” Moomin chuckles, taking a step back to let Snufkin emerge from the tent. 

“Moomintroll, you tease.” Snufkin is dressed in white and blue, with his dark ginger hair curling over the white-collar. His small bushy tail wags underneath his dress, making the metal buttons rattle slightly. He opens his arms then, as wide as they can go. Moomin takes his shoulders, fitting him against himself with delicate care. A curious hand lowers down the crook of his back, to meet that eager tail of his. “I would appreciate the smallest delicacy of manners,” Snufkin taunts as he gets on the tips of his toes, to meet Moomin’s lips. 

Moomin relishes in his warmth, the charming pitch in his voice when he whispers. Despite having dated for five years, every kiss sparks the troll with a spark of heat. He can do no more than to reach into his hair, letting his ginger locks curl over his paw. The _wretched_ kettle whistles, unfortunately, causing Snufkin to break away with a quick _Oh!_ Moomin wants to touch the fine skin of his cheeks, instead, he watches Snufkin pour hot water into his chipped cups and fill them with tea leaves from his satchel. 

Snufkin pats the near cushion for Moomin to sit, then he throws a linen napkin over the troll’s lap. He accepts the cup of tea and smiles politely. “Sorry, it seems I’m out of sugar,” Snufkin says, taking his own seat. 

“No worries.” Moomin digs out a biscuit from the box still in his paws and dips it into the tea. “Have any good stories this time around?” He frowns, seeing that a chunk had broken off in his beverage. 

Snufkin watches his attempt to fish out the piece and attempts to reply noncommittally, “Suppose I do.”

A chuckle rustles in Moomin’s throat. He turns to Snufkin. “We’ll have been together for six years come June, and you think I don’t know when you’re hiding something?” 

“You know me well.” Snufkin wraps a curl of his hair around his finger, hiding his faint blush. “My feet had guided me to some foreign places as it were…”

Moomin takes a sip of his bitter tea, unable to hide his grimace. “I hate to go back into that _horrid_ house but oh, this needs sugar dearly.” 

“Actually!” Snufkin perks up and hurries back into the tent. He returns not a minute later with a glass jar, the top decorated with some lace. “Try some of this.” 

Moomin takes the jar carefully into his paws. “Honey? Where on earth did you find this?” 

“That’s actually part of my story,” he says eagerly, sitting back down on his cushion. “I ended up on the wrong side of town, meaning, rich folk. They had signs boarded by the dozen, I tell you!” 

Moomin unscrews the cap and dips a paw into the thick amber nectar. He swirls the honey around his tongue and hums delightfully. 

“There was a sole house sitting in the middle of this land, it was sprawled like a drowsing giant. Its grounds were surrounded by gardens and orchards, every leaf seemed to have been affixed with forethought! The house itself reminded me of a European style castle, you know how extravagant they can be.”

Moomin nods, although clueless. 

“Anyhow, everything had a pleasing asymmetry - down to the perfectly trimmed hedges. And perhaps I had gotten lost with such elegant company…”

“Perhaps?” 

A chuckle. “Yes _, perhaps_ I ended up behind some dense woods and finding these pedicular nests. Now, these aren’t your normal bluejay nests, no, they looked more like miniature houses! And they _buzzed_! Hundreds of little insects were knocking at their door, and I needed to investigate, naturally. But then a hand fell on my shoulder.”

Moomin’s brows furrow. How dare anyone outright touch Snufkin, let alone spook him. “Whoever owns such home sounds more barbaric than anyone _civilized._ ” 

“Quite the opposite, dear Moomintroll! You see, those nests were home to _bee_ colonies. And the gentleman informed me of the fact, which had me blushing at such a blunder.” His grip on the teacup tightens, his face growing red at just the memory of it. "They had large antlers, which they later informed me is an allegory to their royalty.” Snufkin breaks to take off his old hat, pointing to his small antennas. As a child, he could wiggle them as Moomin does his ears. But now, not so much. “They took me away from that home of the bees before I left with scars upon my face. We spoke more in a pub, which is apparently also owned in the family name,” he pauses when Moomin gasps, covering his agape mouth, “yes, yes, I know - quite an _ungentlemanly_ place for _gentlemen_ to discuss things.”

“A _pub!”_ Moomin astonishes. Such places hold such little allure, infamous for their less-than-sparkling reputation. 

“Ordinarily, given the choice between a room full of hattifatteners and strangers, I would be electrocuted ten times over,” he giggles in the way Moomin always found endearing, with his sharp nose wrinkling. 

A small smile touches Moomin’s lips - he has a strong liking for seeing Snufkin’s hands wave about. “So, what did you do at this _pub.”_

“I tried this wonderfully tart plum wine. Of course, at that point, I hadn’t drunk more than stream water in days! So I drank the vintage in big gulps until none remained in the glass.” Snufkin crawls forward on his knees and places a pad of his paw on his lips. “And this is when they said _‘Not so fast, this stuff is stronger than you think.’_ ” 

Moomin grumbles, “Had you fallen ill?" 

Snufkin falls back on his knees, hands tucked beneath his rear - afraid his animated hands would give away his answer. “And yet, they gave me their glass,” he says, up and out ignoring his inquiry. “Then the most wondrous thing happened! A _band_ started playing! The luthier played her mandolin all the while a singer guided us to the floor. Oh, do you recall that night we played underneath the stars as children? When we thought that a beautiful comet would rid us away? Well, it was like that but _indoors._ And let me tell you, those people were drinking like there was no tomorrow, too!” Snufkin regards Moomin with a skeptical smile. In the face of uncomfortable silence, Snufkin adds, “I’m not much of a dancer, but it made no difference.” This Moomin knows, his dancing (if it could only be called that) was nothing more than bouncing from foot to foot, however charming. “We danced and danced until our lungs ached with laughter. But then my clumsy self started crashing into things,” he giggles, “they were right about the wine. Oh! And after, they showed me how their folk greet one another. It’s much like how you Moomins do it.”

Moomin jolts upright. “You mean how we Moomins greet one another?” 

“No, no!” he waves his hand. “It was nothing of the sort - here I’ll show you.” He sets his cup beside the other and kneels forward, cupping either side of Moomin’s snout. Moomin looks into his brown eyes as his hands remain stilled. Then, all at once, their foreheads meet. A tremor starts at the crook of the troll’s back, working downward. Snufkin removes himself after a moment’s breath, falling back on his knees. 

Moomin half shields his flushing face from his regard, turning his head away. “This is all right and grand,” he coughs, “but how did you get the honey?” 

“Don’t you know better than to interrupt a good story?” he asks in a good heart. “I followed his lead after the get-together, having gotten fuzzy in the head. I hadn’t the mind to set up my tent, so they offered a stay in their home.”

“So you’re telling me you stayed _inside_ this terrible place?” Moomin scoffs. “I can’t even get you to share a bedroom.” 

Snufkin chokes on his next sip of tea. “B-Besides the point,” he sputters. The barest hint of amusement edges the troll’s lips. “Anyhow, they lit a fire in the hearth and wrapped a shawl around my shoulders, offering a warm bath to occupy me. I declined, as you would expect.” 

“Speaking of, isn’t it about time for your spring bath?”

“And _your_ spring combing.” Snufkin plucks a wad of fur threatening to come loose from the troll. “I’ve been meaning to make another pillow.” He pockets the fur, knowing full well he’ll have plenty to make a dozen bedside cushions with once complete. 

“So, what then?” 

“Then nothing! I fell asleep.” He collects their dishes in his paws and stands, heading toward the stream beneath the bridge. 

Moomin’s ears droop. “You must have stayed an entire week.”

“And what if I had?” he calls, wiping both mugs clean with his paws then soaking them back into the cool stream. “What difference would it make if I stayed an entire month? I still came back to you.” 

Moomin sighs and drops his head into his paws. “Still makes a difference to me,” he mumbles underneath his breath, closing his eyes. He listens to the sounds of Snufkin’s boots pressing into the grass, the quiet clatter of dishes in his paws. His eyes only open when a kiss is pressed against his snout. “Hello,” he says, tail thumping behind him. 

“And goodbye,” Snufkin finishes, straightening his posture. 

“Not so fast, my hummingbird!” Moomin grabs either side of his waist and yanks him down. Snufkin yelps as the dishes fall onto the grass, earning yet another chip. 

“Moomintroll!” Snufkin cries with laughter, pushing that enormous snout that threatens to snuggle his nose away. 

“I’m not letting you go until you finish your story!” 

“What is there _to_ finish?”

Moomin opens his mouth, but another voice speaks. “Can you two get off each other, for my sake?” Little My appears casually leaning against the bridge post. Snufkin attempts to spring in the air, but Moomin’s hands are still wrapped around his waist, keeping him chained down. They watch as My goes to investigate the steam kettle sitting next to the smoking fire. She averts her gaze from the pot to the quizzical look in Moomin’s eyes, the nervous presence of Snufkin. “What are you doing? Getting into trouble no doubt.” 

“What are _you_ doing?” Moomin attempts to appear smart with a scolding comeback. “Did you get kicked out of the house as well?” 

“Kicked out?” Snufkin repeats, covering his gaping mouth with a splayed paw. “Moomintroll what are you saying?”

Little My bursts out in laughter, holding onto her wheezing stomach. “Kicked you out? They just wanted you to act your age, and here you are doing the opposite!” 

“How absurd!” Moomin scoffs. “I most _certainly_ am mature!” 

My isn’t given a breath’s time before she breaks out into laughter once more. Moomin’s ears fall, his tail doing much the same. Snufkin pats his thigh and says, “I happen to like Moomin the way he is.” With such encouragement, Moomin’s eyes brighten - they rub their noses together, humming and purring quietly. 

“That’s another way of saying, you’re as big as a baby as ever,” My snorts. 

“Am not! In fact, I’ll prove it,” he says smugly. Although she is right, he’d rather die than admit it true. Snufkin studies him, reading what simmers underneath this false arrogance. 

“Oh? Do tell,” she urges, eager for his response. 

“I’m moving out of the house and living with Snufkin.” 

No one spoke or moved. Moomin feels both My and Snufkin watching him, their gaze penetrating his face. Snufkin senses a stinging pain in his throat, forcing himself to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth. “This is news to me,” Snufkin voices barely above a whisper. Snufkin had never enjoyed someone’s company so much as he did with Moomin, but to _move in?_ A tent is only so big…

“Aren’t you rushing into things?” My asks. 

“ _Rushing_?” Moomin exclaims, “We’ve been taking it slow for years now, and it’s about time I do something about it!”

“Moomintroll,” Snufkin murmurs, breath unsteady, “not until it’s right. When we’re _both_ ready.” 

“Until when? When we’re good and married? Since when have you been the one for social norms,” Moomin says gruffly. 

“I don’t want you doing things for the wrong reason.” Snufkin engulfs his cool paws with both of his warm ones. 

“Does that mean I get your room then?” My asks with a giggle. 

“It’s been _your_ room ever since you moved in,” Moomin grumbles. 

“Well! At least I’ll enjoy the few days peace until you two get sick of each other!” With a wave, she turns her heel and skips her way back to the house. 

“That’ll show them,” Moomin cackles to himself, believing he’s won. “Show them that I _am_ mature. I can live on my own! And do whatever else it is adults do…” He furrows his brows. What _did_ adults do differently? Drink, smoke - both of which Snufkin had been doing since he was a lad.

Snufkin sighs deeply and tries to pull himself away once more only to discover he’s firmly stuck. No matter how hard he tries to pull away from his arm, it wouldn’t budge. “We have never spoken of this ‘moving in together’ idea of yours,” Snufkin says. Moomin’s mouth goes dry. He laughs as a reply, a bit too loudly to be sincere. Snufkin doesn’t laugh in return. “If we are to grow as a couple, we _must_ discuss things _before_ we tell Little My. No more surprises. Understand?” 

He gulps, before answering in an abashed whisper, “I understand.”

“Good!” Snufkin stuns him by replying calmly, almost gleefully. “If we are to live as one, that means I have to go fishing for our dinner! I hope you don’t expect you to make pastries and cakes, I am not Mamma in that regard! But stew, I can manage.”

“R-Right,” Moomin answers, dumbfounded. “Stew is...nice.”

“I will let you retrieve your belongings - I should be back before the sun sets!” Snufkin pats his furry thigh, which makes the troll release him at once. With one last peck on the lips, Snufkin stands and drags a sleeve across his brow. He tips his hat before whirling away and striding off along the path, calling out, “Yip yip!” 

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

The parents were not at all happy with their baby bird spreading his wings and leaving the nest (even though his new nest is literally across the river). Mamma took his arm with a gentle, albeit resolute grip as soon as the troll re-entered the home. “Tell me it isn’t true dear! Little My is misunderstood, isn’t she?” she panics in a shrill voice, her apron wrinkled to bits. “You’re not leaving, are you dear?” 

My cackles from her spot on the staircase, which causes Moomin to shoot her a sideways glare. He adjusts his posture and coughs to clear his throat. “For _once,_ she is right,” his voice is much deeper than normal, a sort of false ego-boost. “I _am_ moving out and living with _my_ partner. You know, _maturely._ ” 

“You’re living with Snufkin?” she asks as if there would be another answer. “Oh, thank heavens! He’ll take care of you, I know it!” 

Moomin flushes in shame. “I can take care of myself, Mamma!” He stomps his foot, his normal voice returning. “I can cook pancakes, I can make jam-” he names off a list, counting on his paws.

“Ah, there you are, son! I admire your valor, but don’t you think you’re putting the horse in front of the cart?” Pappa emerges from the kitchen with a broom in hand, interrupting Moomin. 

“It’s alright!” Mamma assures him. “He’s living with _Snufkin_!”

“Is that so? Well, bravo! The Moomin legacy will live on yet!” Pappa claps his paws, which makes the broom drop with a small _clunk._ “No worries about starvation when you have a Snufkin in your back pocket! He can fish up a storm, I tell you!” 

My reappears with a bundle of his nightgowns and blankets, throwing them down the staircase with a hearty laugh. Which makes Moomin wonder when had she disappeared in the first place. He scoffs curses that Snufkin would not approve of as he picks up each article of clothing. “I would _not_ starve on my own, thank you _very much_! I just happen to like living with the one I hold dear. Surely you two can understand.”

He opens his eyes to find Mamma not by his side, rather, brushing snouts with Pappa. They seem to be relieved that their son would live another day. Moomin’s shoulders fall, finding this scene mortifying. 

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Evening came. Moomin spent the afternoon cleaning out his room, with Little My cackling the entirety of the time. She spoke of her designs - _my bed here, my collection of knives over there._

In everyone’s mind, they had their own idea of when Moomin would return home, tail tucked between his legs. Mamma thought three weeks, Pappa two weeks, Little My one day. What Snufkin thought, well, he’d say _he_ would force Moomin out before he left himself. 

Moomin didn’t know himself, deciding not to think of much besides dinner as he pokes the fire below the pot of broth. Wanting some space from the house, he camped further down the foresty - until Moominhouse was nothing more than a flicker in the distance. Perfectly timed, Snufkin appears on the path, his paws waving. Across his shoulders are a line of fish, all ready to be deboned and thrown into the stew. 

They don’t talk of much, Snufkin deciding himself that the troll didn’t wish to talk about _why_ they have camped so far away. Moomin’s thoughts, however, are centered around the future. But is it wrong of him to want some bounding in domesticity? Marriage is like locking a set of love birds in a cage, and Snufkin isn’t one to clip his wings. 

Once dinner is done, they sit side-by-side in complete silence. Closer and closer Snufkin slides on the log until their shoulders brush against one another. Moomin soothes his hair, whispering a soft _let me please you._ A paw wraps around the curve of his scalp, cradling his head as he presses his lips to Snufkin’s forehead. Moomin tested the waters before, to no avail. But tonight feels different somehow. 

Snufkin reaches for him, his breath unsteady, and climbs into his lap to embrace him. “I’m not certain you can,” he whispers honestly. 

Moomin leans back and brushes some loose hair from his face. “What do you mean?” Snufkin opens his mouth, then closes it, unsure what to say. Moomin brings a paw up to his thigh, stroking the line of thin fur. “You can tell me anything, lamb.” 

Despite being outside, the air seems still and stuffy. Snufkin lets out a pent up breath, feeling everything unraveling before his eyes, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. “I never felt the _need_ to…” he breaks off, paws gesturing vaguely. 

“Have sex?” he finishes.

Snufkin cringes, hating even the word. “Yes.” 

Moomin’s shoulders fall, it’s apparent that he’s trying to hide his disappointment, but Snufkin can see through the soft-spoken words. “That’s plenty alright. Really, I understand.” 

“But,” he speaks, taking Moomin’s paw in his and bringing it down to the hem of his pants, “I may not see the importance of it, but I am feeling _something._ ” Through the cottony fabric of his dress, Moomin touches the curve of his hips, feeling the wetness soaking through the fabric of his pants. Moomin’s eyes light up, and he looks at Snufkin with an open gaze. Both their stomachs flutter, breath catching in their throat. 

“Wow...I mean... _wow,_ ” Moomin fumbles for words, his voice cracking. 

Snufkin laughs breathlessly and lets his paw go from his grip. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of... _it._ But you must understand, this doesn’t make you any more adult.” 

“But isn’t this what adults do?” 

Snufkin taps his foot, thinking over his words carefully. “Well, _yes_ but it isn’t going to change anything. It’s simply an _act_. Like one reel in their cast, or plucks a flower from its stem.”

“I like to think of it more than that,” Moomin sighs, looking up at the stars already showing their bright bodies in the evening sky. “For a moment of time, we become _one._ We talk using our bodies, showing one another how much we truly love the other. It’s romantic, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Suppose,” he replies impartially, feeling of his pockets for his pipe. “If it means all that much to you, I’m willing to put forth the effort.” 

“Really?” he gasps, ears perking up. “I-I mean,” he corrects quickly, “I don’t want to _force_ you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Snufkin grins as he takes the first huff of his pipe, then blowing the smoke into rings. “When has a mumrik done something they hadn’t wanted to?” he says as Moomin coughs a fit. “Just give me a good moment, I have a dreadful case of the jitters.” 

“O-Oh?” he manages through a cough. “I thought you didn’t want me kissing you. You know how much I hate that pipe of yours.” 

“Exactly why I do it,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. After long minutes of Moomin watching the other _slowly_ drag out puffs, the troll loses patience. It seems as if he is taking his time for the dark pleasure of it, eating up Moomin’s suffering. 

“Alright then, up you go.” Moomin stands and waits for the other to follow. 

“Why, I’m not finished just yet, dear.” He pats the warm spot of the log. “I only just lit the thing. It would be wasteful to throw it out now.” 

Moomin could have _sworn_ he saw Snufkin wink not once, but _twice._ A smile curves his lips. “I have an idea then!” Excitement floods him as his paws gently tuck underneath Snufkin’s thighs, lifting him into his arms. Snufkin squeaks as he is lifted bridal style into the troll’s arms. “You can continue your horrid smoking on the way back! There! How is that?” 

With a long, loving sigh, Snufkin relaxes into his clutch. “I don’t have much say in the matter, do I?” 

“None at all,” the trolls replies with a smile. They hike back to the tent, listening to the somber forest sing the last tune of the day - the birds flying back to their nest, the two lovers doing much the same. Snufkin rests his head against Moomin’s bobbing shoulder, his eyes shutting. He breathes out the smoke, not caring that the puff went straight into Moomin’s snout. 

“Is that a new blend you’re smoking?” Moomin coughs, eyes already misting. 

“Yes, my friend had given it to me,” Snufkin replies, eyes still resting. “It’s wonderfully strong. Laced with...oh I forget. Something with the word _nip._ ” 

“A little bit _too_ strong if you ask me." Moomin sets Snufkin down at the edge of the tent, unable to unzip it with the bundle in his arms. "You'll have to introduce to that fellow one of these days."

"Yes! One day soon, hopefully!" Snufkin adjusts his hat before dumping the remains of his tobacco. Moonlight adorns the lines of his body as Moomin watches in awe. “You first?” Snufkin asks after stuffing the pipe back into his pocket. 

“Oh, uh, sure.” Moomin stumbles with the zipper, his paws jittering with excitement. The inside of the tent looks vastly different than it had this morning - piles of blankets sit in the corner, a castle of pillows in the center, as well as a collection of Mamma’s jams.

“My, my,” Snufkin says as he enters behind Moomin. “You _have_ moved in, haven’t you?” He turns around to rezip the entrance, leaving the smallest hole for air to circulate. 

“Of course, this isn’t _everything,_ ” Moomin laughs nervously, not entirely present in the conversation. Whenever he sees that ginger hair, he’s swamped with a feeling of acute pain, almost hunger. The feeling robs him of common sense, a willingness to think of anything _other_ than Snufkin. He wants to take him then, to ease this immeasurable ache. 

“No? Any more and there won’t be room for me.” Snufkin lights the lantern and lowers its flame, illuminating the room in an evening glow. 

There isn’t a single inch of Snufkin that doesn’t tempt him profoundly. He wants nothing more than to address this hunger. “Snuf?”

Snufkin pauses and exchanges a long, significant glance. “Yes, dear?” he whispers, knowing full well of what’s to come. Moomin steps forward and runs his paws through his hair, cradling his head as he pulls him into a kiss. Snufkin hums and lets their mouths drag across his over and over. 

Moomin breaks away for a brief moment to say, “You’re everything I need.” He continues the kiss. As Snufkin’s damp lips open, Moomin penetrates his mouth with his tongue, capturing the silkiness. Even with the taste of tobacco lingering on his tongue, Moomin thought he tasted wonderful. Snufkin feels the urgency, heat radiating from his body. But every movement is carefully thought out, lingering in the touch as if tonight would be the troll’s last chance to feel the prickling goosebumps on his skin, the faint hair covering his body like a spring meadow. It’s not like it is their first time kissing, or making out for that matter - it’s the knowing of what is to come, like their being driven to the brink of an entirely new sensation. A series of light tugs on his gown snaps Snufkin back to reality. Moomin continues kissing his parted lips in time for a few quick pecks, before asking, “May I?” 

Snufkin stares at the troll’s chest rising and falling, transfixed for his mind rushes with thoughts and _what-ifs._ Of course, Snufkin sees Moomin bare daily, but it’s once in a blue moon for the other. His eyes close as he nods slowly, agreeing to be undressed. He turns around, his back facing Moomin. 

Moomin hums as he carefully extends his claws to ease each button out of its hole. Snufkin quivers, having never gotten used to someone else touching him. With the last button undone, the dress pools at his ankles, having fallen silently. Moomin rubs at his shoulders, only the shirt remaining between his skin and his paw. He leans forward to kiss his throat, his paws wrapping around his waist to pull the shirt from the tuck of his pants. Snufkin lifts his arms to help him pull the garment off - Moomin dropping the fabric alongside his dress. Flattening his paw against the hard, bony flesh, Moomin draws them downward with his fur, then his sides, before drawing them in the opposite direction. Snufkin shivers, his body closing in around him. 

“Cold?” Moomin chuckles, leaning forward to see his face. 

Snufkin’s back arches to reach the fur of his stomach. “Mm, only a little.” 

“Well, that won’t do,” he hushes. Moomin’s lips descend to his neck again, to give him a parting kiss before moving to the bundle of blankets on the floor. Snufkin folds his arms over his chest as he watches the troll do his best to make a small nest. Once complete, Moomin looks up at Snufkin’s shadowed features. He extends a paw as an invitation. Snufkin looks at the paw, then his face, before a smile curves his lips. He takes the paw and allows himself to be helped into the nest. 

Moomin’s hands travel over his kneecaps in an attempt to calm him. With a deep breath, Snufkin removes his arm from around his chest, letting it mold hesitantly over his stomach. The troll’s ears perk up, a hint of pink flushing at its tips. There’s a moment’s pause as both attempt to ground themselves. Finally, Moomin utters, “You’re remarkable as ever.” 

Snufkin struggles to hold back a sudden laugh, finding this softness of love on key, typical of the troll. “Same to you,” he decides on - a flicker of amusement in his voice. Moomin’s tail whips as his paws gently urge Snufkin backward, until he flops back onto the pile of blankets. Moomin’s knees place on either side of his thigh as he beds over him, mouth covering his. Snufkin reaches for his snout with trembling hands, his paws tangle in his short bundles of fur. 

Moomin’s paws become curious as well - they climb up his stomach to his chest, cupping the firm flesh of his breasts. Gasping, Snufkin arches as his paws continue to knead at him. “ _Ah!”_ His facial features twist, body wriggling uncomfortably. 

Moomin’s paw jerks back at the remark, as if touching a hot stovetop. “Sorry, love! Was that too much?” Snufkin’s head turns on the pillow, offering a small shrug of his shoulders. Moomin’s face slackens, his shoulders falling. “We won’t know what the other likes unless we voice our opinions,” he speaks with a calming smile. “My feelings won’t get hurt, I promise.” 

His eyes meet Moomin’s, their hands catching. “You’re so kind to me and I hate to be the one to complain…”

“Hush now.” Moomin frowns, running his paw through his hair. 

A sigh. “Alright then. I didn’t much care for that teasing.” 

“With your breasts?” Moomin asks, Snufkin nods. “There, now I know.” Moomin rubs his snout against his nose. “My heart remains intact.” 

Snufkin chuckles, gripping his paw. “You can continue kissing now.” 

“Oh, I can?” Moomin laughs, doing just that. The kissing begins how it ended, soft, before quickly turning harder and longer. Moomin stifles a groan as he thrusts his erection against the roughness of his pants. Snufkin blinks widely, wondering what hardness the troll is hiding. He lifts his head to see a cherry red member sticking out from his fur. Now it’s Moomin’s time to be timid - he scratches the back of his neck as Snufkin observes. 

More fascinated than anything, Snufkin brings his hand down his body and eases along the length of him. It feels hot, hard, much unlike the rest of the troll. “ _Oh,”_ Moomin groans, erection thrusting into his grip. Snufkin pauses, hand lowering from the member. “Did that hurt?” he asks. 

Moomin’s eyes flutter open. “H-Huh? No, no you didn’t hurt me. Quite the opposite, really.” Snufkin hums in response, letting his paw grip his member once more. At first, his paw does nothing but feel the pulsing, then tracing the length with his claw. He laughs when it twitches on its own. Moomin laughs as well, his heart soaring when he watches Snufkin’s face light up. “Alright, you’ve had your fun.” 

“Oh, but I was only getting started, my beloved,” Snufkin laughs once more, falling back into the blankets. Moomin leans forward to undo the last of the buttons, the sole one on his pants. He looks into his eyes for consent - Snufkin gives him a nod. The trousers and pants come off as one, Snufkin’s knees folding inward as soon as they do. He feels exposed, nearly mortified at the fact. “One moment, please,” he whimpers. 

“Of course,” Moomin replies, paws rejoining their position on Snufkin’s kneecaps. “Take all the time you need.” 

Ever the patient troll, but Snufkin knows of his... _situation_ down there, understanding it had to be painful to wait. Then again, if he truly didn’t want this, he knew Moomin wouldn’t keep a grudge, he’d simply go out for a late-night swim until he returned all soft, back to normal. Snufkin would be lying if he’d say this didn’t make this easier, knowing at any moment he could say _no,_ and that would be that. With a deep inhale, he opens his legs, eyes unable to meet Moomin’s loving gaze. 

A moment passes before Moomin speaks, “Have I ever mentioned how handsome you are?” With that, Snufkin snorts. “No! No!” He laughs, despite saying, “I’m being serious!” 

“I know you are, Moomintroll.” Snufkin looks at Moomin’s flushed face then, his lashes lowering over his rich brown eyes. “And have _I_ ever mentioned how you make me wonder why my heart hasn’t burst out of my chest? I once thought that wildness was the only thing that could fill me with so much joy, to the tips of my paws! But you, you overwhelm me with it! Not in a bad way, no, just so much I often find myself standing at the edge of the ocean, shouting to the moon how much I adore you!” He laughs, his hands flying above his face. 

Moomin chokes back a sob, covering his mouth with his paw. 

“Oh, dear, are you alright?” Snufkin leans forward, a paw resting on his shoulder. 

Laughing through a cry, he teases, “You’re supposed to save this kind of talk _after_ sex.” 

Snufkin helps him wipe away a tear. “Ah, well, I’m not one for rules.” 

Moomin shakes him off, adjusting his posture. “Come on now, we better get started before it ends up turning morning on us.” Snufkin shrugs as he repositions himself, opening his legs once more. Moomin works his way above Snufkin until he is able to nuzzle and lick at his throat. He purrs quietly, his cheeks rubbing against the fur of his snout. Then, he feels a paw roaming low on his stomach. Snufkin’s next breath is tangled around a moan as the tips of his claws playing gently through his dark curls. The touch is light, gentle as he parts the soft lips, shaping the tenderness. Snufkin’s knees jerk up as he presses a pad against the entrance of his body. Like clockwork, one of the troll’s paws eases his knees back down. 

“ _Oh, my heavens,”_ Snufkin moans, feeling quite faint. Each swirl on his swollen clit coils the pleasure tighter, his hips nudging against his paw. Then just as soon as he reaches the high, it’s taken away. He pouts softly, which earns a soft laugh from Moomin. 

“I was hoping you’d let me taste you,” Moomin whispers, licking his paw. 

Snufkin groans out of disgust. “Are you entirely sure? _Down there?_ ” Moomin rolls his eyes, insuring him with a soft, _Yes, dear, of course I mean down there.'_ Snufkin laughs and allows himself to be propped up, his legs held on his shoulders. Moomin’s mouth brush against his closed lips, the intimate scent driving him mad. His tongue parts the lips open, delving into his heat. This time, Snufkin _does_ gasp, his paws closing in on his scalp. 

Moomin works to lick every twitch and throb out of him, glorifying himself every time he makes the mumrik moan, twist, and jerk underneath his touch. His hot breath falls rapidly on his increasingly wet flesh, before diving back in. Moomin peers up to find Snufkin biting his lower lip, eyes glued shut. He remains silent, other than broken gasps and whimpers. Occasionally his legs would clamp hard against his snout, which made Moomin purr with delight. Then, he makes a sudden sound of distress, much louder than his previous cries as a new wave of wetness escapes. His hips pulses in helpless thrusts as Moomin continues to provoke him with his tongue, sloppy noises filling the tent. After thoroughly cleaned out, Moomin makes one last lick up his cunt, ending it with a kiss on top of his sensual curls. 

Snufkin goes lax instantly, chest heaving heavily. He sports a lazy smile as his eyes remain closed. Moomin’s ears wiggle delightfully, his paw holding onto the other. _He_ had brought Snufkin to this divine pleasure, which made the troll’s ego surge higher than the adoration in his beating heart. Moomin brings Snufkin’s paw to his face to kiss the inside of his elbow, working his way down to the wrist. 

“What an extraordinary feeling,” Snufkin manages, his wet lashes fluttering open. “Moomintroll...you’re _remarkable_.” 

Moomin chuckles as he loosens his clutched claws apart and kisses the pad of his paw. “Thank you, lamb. But I’m not done with you yet.” 

“I figured as much,” Snufkin laughs softly. His head rolls to the side, his gaze locking on the small lantern. “Moomin?”

“Yes?” Moomin’s head tilts. “What’s on that mind of yours?”

A sigh. Snufkin turns his head back into place on the pillow. “I don’t want this to lead to...” he pauses, then continues much softer, “something we’re not ready for.” A beat passes for the other to piece together what he is saying. Then Moomin moves to gather above him. They share a bright smile, knowing they are in a clear understanding of each other without another spoken word. Of course, there are no promises, that they both know. 

Snufkin’s hand reaches down to curl around his member, stroking softly. He stares up at the curious expressions his lover is making, almost like he is in pain (but now he knows better to think such a thing). Snufkin urges him forward, making an open cradle of his legs and hips. Moomin ruts his member briefly against his slick entrance, it slipping away from his grip. Snufkin tries again as the other waits patiently, murmuring soft encouragements. This time, it’s positioned much lower. As soon as Snufkin tries to align himself, Moomin thrusts firmly inside him. 

Snufkin cries, his entire body flinching, including his facial features. Moomin immediately panics - the pleasure from _finally_ being inside him drowned by the shock of his lover’s pain. “Are you okay?!” his voice is shrill, dripping with concern. Snufkin’s claws, having created several shreds in the blankets, slowly pries away from the fabric. Moomin balances himself with one paw, the other stroking away some loose hair in an attempt to soothe him. 

“I believe,” he grunts, “something didn’t go as smoothly as it should.” 

“I’m sorry! Should I pull out?” He beings to follow his own advice, but Snufkin grabs his hips. 

“N-No,” he pants, lifting his hips to encourage Moomin to push back in. “Keep going.” 

“...Are you sure?” Moomin attempts to ease away the hurt by running his tongue over his lips, until he relaxes and begins to moan that grants his tongue access. As a reply, Snufkin grinds his hips against him once more, signaling his eagerness to continue. Moomin feels his flesh tensing around his member, making it impossible _not_ to move. He forgets everything free from the need to dive deeper into his gripping flesh, the feel of his warm limbs curving around him. They break away from the kiss, both panting out the other’s name, over and over, ecstasy mounting with every spoken word. 

With a broken cry, Snufkin spasms, his back arching. Through the fogginess, Moomin vaguely recognizes Snufkin had reached his peak, a flood of slickness spilling onto the blankets accordingly. He slows his pounding, opting for slow, deep thrusts. Feeling on the verge of his own release, Moomin withdraws himself and thrusts into his open paw above Snufkin’s stomach. He watches Snufkin, having gone slack underneath him, smile lazily and trembling in the afterglow. He lets the urgent pleasure build inside him. Snufkin murmurs words to low for Moomin to understand, but his tone is dripping with pure affection. That, coupled with the sight of Snufkin’s body under his, is too much - he shakes as he comes, Snufkin’s praise still lingering in the air. 

Moomin feels boneless after his long release, feeling as if he had just smoked a pipe himself. He wants nothing more than to sprawl across Snufkin’s chest, but seeing the large mess on his stomach, that option is out the door. He stumbles to his feet drunkenly, eyes searching for a towel. 

“Moomintroll?” Snufkin asks softly, his body still frozen. 

“Y-Yes?” Goodness, had it always been this hard to walk? 

“Have you got a nightgown?” His head barely lifts to watch him go through a pile of crumbled fabric thrown lazily about. 

“Oh! Yes, just one moment. I need to get you cleaned up first.” Finally, he finds the baby blue blanket. It is no towel but is the softest fabric he owns, which he thinks Snufkin needs. 

“How sweet of you.” He rests once more, listing to the light spilling of the canteen water. He hums as he’s given a sponge bath, something he never imagined receiving. Moomin works at his face first, gently dabbing the corner of the blanket at his forehead. “Does this count as my spring bath?” 

“If only you were that lucky.” His paw comes to his wrist, lifting along the line of his arm to wash underneath. “I can join if that would make it less daunting.” The pad of his paw finds the delicate vein under his wrist - he strokes the delicate throbbing on his pulse as he washes his stomach with his free paw. 

“There’s nothing more terrifying than soap and cold water,” he laughs softly. Moomin finishes cleaning below the waist and struggles to stand back up, a few joints popping as he does. There are small speckles of red on the fabric, which makes Moomin’s heart pang. Unzipping the tent’s seal, he throws the towel out onto the grass and wipes his paws on the fur of his stomach.

“Snufkin? Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks as appears with a gown of his choosing.

Snufkin’s eyes open, a subtle smile curving his lips. “I’m a little sore if I’m being honest. But this is to be expected our first time.” He lets himself be hoisted to his knees, lifting his arms to allow the cottony nightgown to fall easily. Being Moomin’s old gown, the neck is outstretched, the fabric falling off of his slim shoulders. 

Moomin extinguishes the lantern before returning to settle beneath the blankets. Snufkin nestles in the crook of his arm, using him as a pillow. “Can I ask another question?” 

“It’s dangerous to have these conversations past midnight,” he yawns, eyes already closed. “But I will give you one question.”

Moomin strokes his hair that streams across his arm. “Did this change anything for you?”

Snufkin looks at him with his night eyes, absorbing every fine detail - the slope of his snout, the eyes staring into the blackness of the night. “No,” he whispers. “Did it for you?” 

“I feel the same as I did this morning. I mean, that was _incredible_ and my heart is full but…” 

“Nothing will ever change you,” Snufkin finishes. “You will always be my Moomintroll.” 

Moomin relishes the loving weight of his head on his shoulder. He pulls the blanket higher above his chest, wanting nothing more than his love to be comfortable. “You’ll always be my Snufkin.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope this made sense. probably not. I always expected there to be a flip of a switch like BAM you're an adult. but that never happened? yeah so basically growing up is realizing nobody grows up.


End file.
